Hermione Jean Holmes
by PotterVengerLock
Summary: Hermione Granger. That is not her name. Her name is Hermione Jean Holmes. Her hair is dyed. She has two older brothers named Sherlock and Mycroft. One day, a stick is found on a body. Sherlock goes to Hermione for help and John, who had absolutely no idea he even has a sister, is astonished. No pairings, unless I decide to add some later.
1. Prolauge

Hi. I'm BACK! PotterVengerLock makes an appearance again. I very much hope you like this awesome idea I had out of the blue while watching Sherlock and reading Harry potter FFN. A very good one called _Harry Crow _by robst. A very good author. Also, lets get geneology down now. Sherlock is about six years older than Hermione, and Mycroft is about two years older than Sherlock.

Any whoo... ON WITH THE STORY!

Standard Disclaimer Spell!

I CAST THIS SPELL ON THIS ENTIRE STORY AND IT SHALL NOT BE REVOKED!

I do not own, nor make money off of, this work of art called Hermione Holmes. I only do this for fun and for the satisfaction of getting reviews and follows and favorites. *wink, wink*

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Summary:

Hermione is not who everybody thinks she is. Her name is not even Hermione Granger, her name is Hermione Jean Holmes, and she has two older brothers named Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes. Her mother is Mummy and her Father, lets just say they don't get along well. One day, out of the blue, Sherlock asks Hermione for help with a case. He found a stick on a body.

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CHAPTER ONE: Prologue

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Hermione Holmes. HH. I loved my name. HJH. Flows right off the tongue.

Too bad I have to change it for school. Can't have that "rich kid" persona get in the way of friendships and relationships. My mother and brother, Mycroft, came up with the name Granger. Such a horrible name, so plain. HJG. I hate even writing it down at the top of my papers for school. I absolutely HATE that name. And I wish to get rid of it. I shall not stand for this! I will never be brought so low as to change my name for a simple school!

Nope.

Never.

Nada.

I'm going to stay Hermione Holmes for the rest of my life. Period.

"A _RICH _MUGGLEBORN?"

"OH NO!"

"EVERYBODY RUN!"

"AND WHATEVER YOU DO, DON"T MAKE FRIENDS WITH HER!"

"SHE'S PURE EVIL!"

Do they seriously expect that to happen? Do only so-called 'poor' muggleborns get to be witches and wizards? HUH?

Any takers on that?

So now my parents are supposedly two dentists from Crawley, and they even hired actors named Ruby Harvey and Rupert Larson to be them.*

I don't even get my own pet!

Sherlock is barred from having animals because of "The Great Gerbil, Guinea Pig, and Hamster Fiasco", don't ask, and Mycroft, he would simply forget about it and it would die, and JUST because I'm their sister means I cannot get a single animal to take with me to school.

Humph.

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The magic started when I was a few months old.

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I had been the perfect child. Adored by all, even Sherlock. He doted on me like he was my self appointed 'Guardian Angel'. He still does. Only he could stop me when I was crying in the middle of the night. And it was he who learned about my magic first. He was about six at the time.

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"Waaa!"

Hermione!

I rushed over to her room, right next to mine actually, and right before I opened the door, I heard a sound that I wasn't expecting.

She stopped and cooed in the babyish way babies do when their needs are satisfied.

I immediately thought there was an intruder and rushed in to rescue her, like the valiant swashbuckler I am.

What I saw was not what I was expecting, a man dressed up in black, comforting her, but her cuddling with her favorite stuffed bear, which I was absolutely sure was on the other side of the room, on a shelf inside her closet.

And I am never wrong with Hermione, sweet Hermione, sure to be absolutely beautiful when she grows up.

But, whatever left, however improbable, is the answer.

There was never anyone in here tonight besides me, and Hermione of course.

The window sill and door knob clearly show that.

She does not have the ability to walk yet, so it somehow got over to her my some sort of flotation.

I decided to experiment.

I took the bear from her, and held it a meter's length away.

She started to sniffle, and I found nothing in my hand and a bear in hers.

So, it disappears and reappears in her crib.

Hmm...

I can work with this.

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THE ULTIMATE TIME SKIP! Onward!

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Hermione has been steadily improving since that night, and now she can do things that would baffle the mind at will. It's simply amazing!

And what's even more amazing?

THERE'S A SCHOOL DEDICATED TO TEACHING CHILDREN THIS!

It's like my first chemistry set all over again!

Even Father is proud, and that's not something he bestows on Hermione often, his pride that is.

His golden child is Mycroft, and nothing I ever do is going to change that.

Even the inquiry about Carl Powers' shoes never made it anywhere. Not that it needed help anyway.

Sigh, Hermione would soon be entering a world full to the brim, filled with bigotry and so-called 'pureblood' supremacy, at which scale she is almost at the bottom of, next to 'muggles' otherwise known as non-magicals by decent people, and she even has to change her name!

Hermione Granger, ugh.

Such a horrible name. I was even part of the reason why she cannot have a pet to keep her company, those rodents were an experiment! I was testing how various poisonous substances on live subjects, dead ones don't do well with disease tests, and I needed several species to have a conclusive test. I'm not allowed to use humans, I can only use dead ones, and that's for when I turn twenty-one. I'm sixteen.

And the BOOKS!

Don't get me started on the books.

The knowledge in that store... it almost blinded me.

Of course, Hermione absolutely loved them, we got all of them, well two copies of every book she would need for standard classes up until seventh year, one set for me, and one for her.

That bookstore was nirvana for people like Hermione and I. Knowledge is power, and power gets you far in life. I got all the extra curricular books and stuck them in an enchanted bag I had bought, it was feather light, and bottomless. Hermione got one too, I made sure of that.

I wouldn't trust those silly actors with the hamster.

We nearly lost them four times, and all in different shops. They just stood in line for the register while we got what we needed, and more, and they then paid for it with a strange coin system that they figured out pretty quickly. Galleons, sickles, and knuts. Interesting names.

I was playing the part of the interested non-magical when we went into an interesting wand shop, called Ollivanders. It apparently had been selling wands since, what was it, thirty-two BCE? Yes, that was it. Thirty-two BC. That's a very long time to be selling wands.

Her wand was made out of birch wood and had a hippogriff feather core, apparently it shows that she has layers to her personality and will not take kindly to insults, her wand agreeing with her and providing protection when needed.

Because she could already do wandless magic, her wand only helped her to be even more focused and more powerful with magic, and that also meant that she could perform underage magic before her seventeenth birthday without getting arrested.

YES!

Hermione promised she would write every week and that if any thing interesting happened I would be notified, but not allowed to directly interfere. I could only send a letter back with inquiries and answers to her questions. She could only take so many books in an unenchanted trunk, so I got left with the reading and extra research.

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First year.

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Dear Sherlock,

I have a question for you. If you met the most famous person in wizarding Britain, would you exploit him, or just be friends?

Love,

Hermione H.

PS, Do you know who Nickolas Flamel is? Please research.

Dear Hermione,

I would only use the fame in an extremely dire situation. And as for Flamel, I scoured all the books and he wasn't in there. I would guess he's an older wizard, not in any recent books.

From,

Sherlock

PS, Mummy says she misses you.

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Second year

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"Hey, Hermione! Do you have anything on the petrifications yet?"

"No, Ronald. I need to send a letter first, then I can tell you if I have anything when he replies."

"Who would _you_ send a letter to, Hermione? It's not like you have any contacts with the wizarding world besides us, right? And a _he_ at that! Got a boyfriend from you're muggle life?"

"Actually, Ronald, I'm writing to my brother. And also, please use the term non-magical, muggle is so demeaning."

"You have a brother?!"

"Yes, idiot, I have three, and four sisters, all of them older than me."

"EIGHT KIDS? That's even more than my family!"

"You really are an idiot aren't you? I only have two older brothers. Mycroft, he's twenty, and Sherlock, he's eighteen."

"They're a lot older than you."

"Way to state the obvious, Ronald."

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Third year

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Dear Sherlock,

I hate to do this to you, but I have to confess this to somebody!

I helped an innocent man escape from certain death, by dementor.

Sirius Back is Harry's godfather. His best friend was Harry's dad and Remus Lupin, the werewolf I told you about. Sirius is an innocent man. Pettigrew killed those people and he is an unregistered rat animagus. Sirius is too, that's how he escaped, he's a dog, and he told us to call him snuffles, an idiotic name if you ask me, when we talk about him. And, as I told you earlier, I saved him, using the time turner. He got away on Buckbeak, the hippogriff I asked you to do some research on earlier this year. We got him away safely, again with the time turner, and Macnair was very angry about that, he badly wanted to kill him, but we won't let him do that, now will we? Malfoy is an arrogant sod who deserves nothing, not even the clothes on his back, I decked him for you, like you asked.

Love,

Hermione H.

"Hermione H.?"

"Ah!"

"Oh, sorry Hermione, didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay Harry, I'm just writing to my brother, you don't have to worry about him telling anyone anything, he's a non-magical."

"Oh. Why do you use the term non-magical'? Why not use 'muggle'?"

"Because the term 'muggle' to me is like the term 'mudblood' to Ron."

"Oh, sorry, I'll try not to use it around you then."

"Thank you Harry."

"You're welcome."

And with that, he walked away.

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Year four

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Dear Hermione,

I read about the events at the Quidditch world cup, I very much hope you're safe. Mummy also hopes so, Mycroft probably does too, but he never shows any emotion at all, arrogant prick. Father cares not a smidge about you, so I wouldn't be worried about him. Owl back as soon as possible,

From,

Sherlock

PS. I got kicked out of my flat, again, might need to flat share this time

Dear Sherlock,

What did you do this time? Never mind, not sure I want to know. Hope you get a flat mate soon, and keep him(or her). I am safe, and so is Harry and that git Ronald, dunno why I hang out with him. Definitely NOT his 'charming' personality. Also, A Tri-wizard tournament has begun, and sure enough, Harry's right in the middle of it, a fouth champion. Comepletely unheard of, But then again, this _is_ Harry Potter I'm talking about, so we have some exemption to the rule. Again, I am safe. Good luck.

Love,

Hermione H.

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Year five

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Dear Hermione,

I hope all is well with DA, and that you take my little problem solver and finally use it, it's doing nothing. Our Biggest friend might be getting useful soon, and that crush is something to be worried about, don't act on it, you might hurt his feelings, not that I care any way. Mummy says, and I'm quoting, "Hi, and give those idiots something to think about in the next few days, that might be reading this, but be warned, Snuffles might not like being cooped up, and you certainly cannot have two pets at Hogwarts, that Kneazle was a gamble, and you're pushing it with him, yes, Sherlock told me about him, and I worry." Geez, sentimental much? Mycroft says hi.

From,

Sherlock

Dear Sherlock,

Everything is well, and Umb*tch is finally gone, Gwarp did actually come in handy after all, you were right. He took her off into the forest with a herd of centaurs in tow, she idiotically called them 'half-breeds' to their face, really bad move.

Bad news:

Sirius is dead, Harry is devastated, and the idiotic Ministry finally sucked up, and accepted that Voldemort is back. Seriously though, stupid name choice much? It literally means 'flight of death' in French. Though the last one isn't so much 'bad' news, it's just the fact it took them almost an entire year to believe Harry. Idiots, Sherlock, all of them.

Love,

Hermione H.

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Year Six

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Dear Sherlock,

Do you know anybody that calls themselves the 'Half-Blood Prince'? Because Harry got an old book belonging to somebody named that and he is absolutely BRILLIANT at potions. Better than me, and Harry won't let me see it, just because he thinks I'll steal it and never give it back. Also, on a darker note, Harry found a spell in there, a curse that is only used on arch enemies and creates deep cuts that can probably kill. He used it on Malfoy, and even I almost feel sorry for him.

Love,

Hermione H.

Dear Hermione,

I have yet again scoured the books and found no geneology of otherwise of one 'Half-Blood Prince'. I also advise you never to use that curse on ANYBODY not deserving of it. Only in a 'to the death' fight may you use it. If ever.

From,

Sherlock

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Year Seven

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I have not received nor sent out any letters to anybody this year. I did not Obliviate my parents, but those idiotic actors. I have had one communication to my family, and that was to tell them to not contact me this year. I also warned Mycroft of this impending battle, and asked him to keep the non-magical police out of it, along with secret service and the entire British government.

I also informed Sherlock that he could, under no circumstances, take any strong drugs, EVER AGAIN, hell to pay if he didn't go into rehab.

I love my brothers and Mummy, Father though, I couldn't care less about him, and him me.

Oh, and I will never marry Ronald, that kiss in the chamber was about as far as we're going to get, and I'm moving to London. I got a wonderful single flat and a good job - I graduated High school at six and uni at ten. I work for a nice bookshop, and sometimes loose myself in the fiction isle, goodness I love books.

Sherlock is twenty-four. Mycroft is twenty-six. Mummy still won't answer when I ask her how old she is. Couldn't care less with father.

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PHEW! *wipes forehead with back of arm*****

*These are FAKE names and if they resemble anybody you know or you, it is purely coincidental

**THIS TOOK UP **_**SEVEN **_**PAGES OF WORD! And with 2390 words it's just awesome, my longest chapter yet!**

That was HARD! I hope I did well and SO sorry for ANY OOCness on Sherlock's part, he is SO hard to write. The first actual 'Chapter' takes place a few years later, just after the great game. Not JUST after, but about a week or two from it, John only knows about Mycroft and Mummy, so there will be a bit of surprise on his part for dropping the bomb that he has a sister. Next chapter might take a few days because this Plot bunny just keeps running in circles around in my head. I've also started my own "Feed the Plot Bunnies" campaign. The Plot Bunnies eat Reviews, and they're starving!

SAVE THE PLOT BUNNIES! REVIEW!

Thank you in advance for reviewing.

Sincerely,

PotterVengerLock


	2. The Beginning, and Tea

A/N This chapter is devoted to:

My bear, who has stood with me over several years, and has sadly passed on, murdered, actually, by me. A stone bear sits on my lamp and now is literally swinging from my celing because I hung it up there by the neck with a noose. I was thinking of doing the same to myself when I realized that I had not yet finished all of my fics, and my readers love me dearly, thank you so very much for that. I feel so special for all my veiws, reviews, and visits(Whats the diff between views and visits? Just wondering.) I was literally saved from commiting suicide by you guys, seriously, I LOVE all of you. And if anybody is worried that I have no friends or family, don't worry. I have no friends, and I kind of locked myself in my room just because I was being forced to clean, and wanted to spite my father. Don't worry, all is well, and thoughts of suicide are out of my head. (mostly.) I also want to dedicate this chapter to Kyla. My human interpreter. Because she makes sense where regular sheep do not. Sheep are normal humans, if you are wondering. To quote Sherlock. "I don't have friends, I have a friend, you." Or something like that. Also, a wonderful, kind guest corrected my French in the prologue. I would love to thank that guest, and, as you can clearly see, I have fixed it. Thank you.

PLEASE READ! I would like to note that Hermione dyed her hair during her school days, so she would look normal. (I totally forgot to add that into the first chappie) As you can see, she has on her school uniform in the pic, so therefore is still using hair dye as she is in her school days still. So sorry about that little misshap.(Her eyes can be explained be colored contacts, obviously.*with Sherlock accent*)

Anyhoo...

ON WITH THE STORY!

* * *

Hermione POV:

I was having a relatively "normal" day when he called. "Normal" because I'm Hermione Jean Holmes and a witch. I've been living in non-magical rural London for a while now. I'm still magic, I just have a non-magical house and job. Anyway..

Sherlock called.

I was sitting down in my cushy scarlet armchair reading on astrology, when the phone suddenly rang. I picked it up from the armrest and looked at it. It was playing a dramatic song that I think he would like, and had a picture of him playing the violin as a child. I tapped the answer button, and put it to my ear.

"Hermione."

"Sherlock! What do you need? Can I get it for you? I know you never call for sentimental reasons."

"Actually, I need you to I identify a stick I found on a body."

He's with a non-magical then.

"Name, and bring it over or I'll come over there to do prior incantation and check if it's their's."

"John Smith."

"You're being serious."

"Yes."

I started to giggle at the name. It soon turned into full out laughter.

"He must have real fun at airports." I said, after calming down.

"He's your type, he probably doesn't even know what an airport is."

"Was he in non-magical garb?"

"Yes, better than most I must admit, but still has all the markers of your kind."

"Like what?"

"His cufflinks, glad Anderson didn't see it."

"Anyway, who's the new trainee?"

"John. John Watson."

"Ah, the one with the sister named Harry."

"Yes, that's him."

"I'm coming over, what's the address again?"

"221B Baker Street. Goodbye Hermione."

"Goodbye Sher-"

He ended the call. I got up with a grunt and moved to get ready to meet the new "trainee" as I like to call them. Whenever Sherlock gets a new flatmate, he trains them, the last one died, do now he talks to his skull. My brother's a madman, yes he is.

* * *

Previously:

John POV:

"BORED, BORED, BOERD, BORED, BORED!"  
He's yelling again. Traipsing about the flat in his pajamas and robe, can't find the gun, I have hid it well.

"Have you checked the website for cases?" I tried, _something _to keep him occupied.

"YES! Seventeen times already!"  
Okay then, plan B.

"Have you texted Lestrade? He might have a cold case for you."

"He won't reply." He finally stopped pacing and folded himself into his chair, sulking. RING! the doorbell.

"I got it!" I called to Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock, who had stood up and started speed walking to the door, desperate for something to do.

I went down the stairs and answered the door, seeing Lestrade there. He nodded to me and gestured with his hand toward the flat.

"Oh," I stammered, "Go right ahead, he's been in a bad mood lately, running about in nightclothes and yelling."

"Good. I've got a case for him." He told me.

"Oh thank goodness. Lestrade, you're a lifesaver." We both went up the stairs and inside the flat Lestrade immediately got bombarded by Sherlock.

"Lestrade! Good to see you. Do you have a body for me?" Sherlock said, in that rapid-fire way of his.

"Yes as a matter of fact I do. One John Smith, found dead in his home, no cause of death."

"Who's on forensics?"  
"Anderson."  
"Do you purposely put him there so I go? You know what, don't answer that, I know you do. Go ahead, I'll be there soon by cab."

Lestrade left, and Sherlock went into his room and actually got some clothes on. He was bustling about and grabbing his coat and scarf, soon ready to go. I had been ready to go from the start, and all I had to do was pull on my jacket. We went outside and Sherlock used his magical cab getting magic to get us a cab.

We were now at the crime scene.

It was a rural place, not very unusual, besides the police tape around one house, that is. And the body splayed out on the front steps, that could count.

"Find anything useful?" Sherlock asked Lestrade, after completely ignoring the police tape and waltzing right up to the body, looking at it closely with his little portable magnifying glass. I stood a few feet behind him, looking at it from behind him.

"Certainly looks the part, doesn't he?" I comment to Lestrade, looking at his face. Plain, not handsome, not ugly. Brown hair and eyes, clipped nails. Regular, cheep suit. Brown dress shoes.

"Not really useful, but we did find some stuff. A wallet, a stick, that's about it really." He held out the evidence bags for Sherlock, who glanced at them, took the stick, and went back to the body.

"No wounds or prior medical conditions?" I asked,

"No. But we haven't ruled out anything yet." Lestrade

" Well I have, but I have to make a call first." said Sherlock, standing up as he does so.

"That's funny. You never make calls, you always say you prefer to text." I wondered allowed, but he went on, unperturbed.

"She doesn't like texting, and won't respond if I do." Ah, a girl then.

He took his phone out of his pocket and scrolled down his contacts before choosing one and holding it to his ear. He waited a bit, then spoke.  
"Hermione."

A slightly enthusiastic reply followed, and Sherlock turned around, looking at the body from afar, if a few meters could be counted ad such.

"Actually, I need you to identify a stick I found on a body." he said, holding it up to his face and fondling with it from through the bag, then sticking it in his pocket.

"Wait a second, I found that." said Lestrade, indignant, while pointing at him.

"John Smith."

"Yes." he said with a signature eye roll.

Laughter could be heard from the phone, even from a few feet away from him, which was were I was.

"He's your type, he probably doesn't even know what an airport is." Your type?

"Yes, better than most I admit, but he still has all the markers of your kind." markers? Your kind?

"His cuff links, glad Anderson didn't see it." Something small equals something large, as usual, I didn't even notice he had cuff links on.

"John. John Watson."

"I'm sorry, how is this about me?" I asked him, no response as usual.

"Yes, that's him." He said with a sarcastic eye-roll

"221B Baker Street, Goodbye, Hermione."

He took the phone away from his ear and hung up, starting to walk to the street as he did so.

"Who was that?" I asked, trying to figure out who this mysterious "Hermione" is, and how she got on Sherlock's contact list.

"Somebody who can do what I can't."

"You can't do something?"

"Yes, and she can. Hermione's an expert in her field."

"And what would that field be?"

"Sticks." he said plainly, and continued walking toward the cab, which had been waiting

* * *

Present:

When we were in the cab, he asked me a question, which I hadn't been expecting.

"Do you mind if I have some family over?" He asked, looking at me seriously, knowing I had only met Mycroft. (Who kidnapped {adult-napped?} me, thank you very much.)

"No, as long as it's not Mycroft."

"Good, it's Hermione." Oh, god! There are three of them!

"She's related to you?" I asked, trying to find out how she is.  
"Sister, yes." He said, monotonously.

"Younger, or older?"I could understand an older sister, I had one myself.  
"Six years, twenty-two days younger, why?" I raised my eye brows, that's a lot younger.  
"We're here." I said, paying the cabbie and getting out.

We went inside and I went to make tea, while Sherlock busied himself with tidying up the flat. Hmm... He never tidies up for Mycroft.

The doorbell rang and I let Sherlock get it, knowing it was probably Hermione.

When they came upstairs, I saw the family resemblance.

She had on brown cloth gloves, had a nice figure that I'm not going to stare at, and a navy blue coat, along with sleek black hair in a pony tail and ice-blue eyes. Sort of looks like Emma, my cousin.

She sat down on the couch and asked Sherlock for the stick, smiling slightly as she does so. He gives it to her, and comes in the kitchen, where I am, sitting on one of the chairs, waiting for the pot to boil.

He situates himself between me and Hermione, blocking my view to her.I could hear her muttering from here and about a minute later, she came into the kitchen. The pot had boiled by then, and the tea had been served. She handed Sherlock a note and sat at the table, grabbing a cuppa while doing so.

* * *

Hermione POV:

I took a cab over to Sherlock's flat. When I got there, I rang the doorbell, and Sherlock opened the door.

"Ah! Hermione! I've got it upstairs." he greeted, all business like, letting me in the door.

"Sherlock, how've you been?" I asked, kissing him on the cheek

Giving no reply, he walked up the stairs, me following, and into the flat.

When we got there, I could see a man that had a rather large nose and a jumper in the kitchen, making tea, so that's John Watson. Sherlock wordlessly gave me the evidence bag, and I opened it and let the wand roll out and onto my palm. He went into the kitchen and blocked John's view from me so I could do magic and not have the ministry on my back.

I muttered "prior incantatum" and a shield charm came up, along with a stunning spell.

I wrote them down on a piece of paper I saw, with a pen I had in my pocket, and got up, going into the kitchen. Giving the paper to Sherlock, I sat down at the table, grabbing a cup of tea as I went.

* * *

A/N

SO SORRY I POSTED THIS SO LATE! ALSO SORRY IT'S SO SHORT! Writer's block won't let me do anything else to this. So Sorry for any mistakes, and OOCness. Anyhoo... I LOVE YOU GUYS! YOU ALL MAKE ME SO HAPPY! Arigato gosaimas!

I love you guys. And I just happened upon some virtual cookies and hot chocolate for reviewers. People who didn't review, ha ha, you don't get any. (::) (::) c[~] I'm a special child with many talents. And coated in pure evil. (review if you got the joke about John's cousin.)

Now, the bunnies are doing fine, but they're still hungry! Feed the bunnies! REVIEW! I WILL LOVE YOU AND GIVE YOU TREATS!

I thank you in advance for reviewing.

Sincerely,

_PotterVengerLock_


	3. HERE YA GO, SORRY FOR WAIT IDJITS

Ok, SO freaking sorry for the EXTREMLY inexcusable and overly long wait for the rest of this. I'm not even gonna call that old thing a chapter, it was a horrible excuse, and I hate it. I still love you guys and love your input. Oh, and I noticed that some people actually care about my health, so, thank you kind people. I've gotten better, and I took the bear down from off the ceiling, and put him back on his lamp.

Now, ON TO THE STORY!

_Hermione POV_

After we finished tea, I ended up staying for a bit, and we started to play Cluedo. You really don't want to know what happened, so don't ask. Let's just say it involved Sherlock deducing mine and John's card right off the bat, saying that the victim did it, even when, within two minutes, he had already deduced the winning cards. That led to a lengthy debate with me eventually agreeing with Sherlock, seeing the logical side of the argument, and the two of us going head to head against John, who kept arguing that the victim could not have killed himself, we were arguing that yes, he very well could have.

After we finally finished our argument, Sherlock got a text. DI Lestrade wants him to come in to the yard to talk about the case, to keep him updated and all that. So we caught a cab with Sherlock's cab getting powers, and headed off to the yard.

"Stop that."

"Stop what, Sherlock?"

"Fiddling with your shirt cuffs. It's annoying."

Oh. I was doing it again. After Malfoy Manor, I developed a nervous tick, pulling my shirt sleeves down repeatedly. I always wore long sleeves nowadays, to hide the horrible scar on the inside of my forearm. My family knows of course, they know everything.

Any ways, we arrived at the yard and then went inside. Sherlock had warned me about the stupidity of the place, but it was necessary, so we walked into the yard, as I was saying, and when we got into the office area on our way to the DI's office, we were almost immediately interrupted by a dark-skinned woman and a man with long-ish hair.

"Why are you here, Freak?"

Not even a breath after she spoke, I had immediate hatred for her. My eyes narrowed.

"And why'd you bring a girl with you, Freak? You his new girlfriend?" The man added, gesturing to John with his hand.

I decided to end the abuse.

"For your information, I am not in a relationship with either of them. I happen to be Sherlock's sister and I would advise you against calling him a freak."

"Oh, so there's more than one Freak? Ah, Now I see the similarities. Same eyes, same hair color, same Freakishness."

"Anderson, shut up, you're just lowering the IQ of the whole building. And I thought Hermione already said to please refrain from calling me a freak."

Anderson, that's his name.

"Well, Anderson, I hope I don't get arrested for this."

I walked up to him, swung my fist back, and punched him square in the face.

His head snapped back, and I stepped back to beside Sherlock again.

"Did you hurt your hand?"

"No, I've been punching pricks for a while."

You guys have absolutely no idea how hard this was to pump out. The bunnies ran away… (and took my writing talents with them) I'm tired, I'm listening to BABYMETAL, and I feel like I just wrung out my brain. *facekeyboardtime*

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I extremely appreciate feedback for this horrible chapter; _tell me how bad it is,_ please.

The reviewer's appreciation gifts: C[] (';) (;') (::)

Thanks in advance for reviewing.

Sincerely,

_PotterVengerLock_


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